


Miss Him Too Much

by ThatComicGirl52



Series: Monthly Oneshots [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Monthly oneshot, some dark stuff right here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15519720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatComicGirl52/pseuds/ThatComicGirl52
Summary: Bruce was my everything, but now he’s gone.





	Miss Him Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is my monthly oneshot for August. Thank you so much to Do_The_Cool_Whip, who without her, this oneshot would not exist. This was the oneshot pairing that was voted for this previous month on my monthly oneshot poll. To find out how you can take part in my poll, and have access to more exciting things having to do with my fanfiction, check out my tumblr at thatcomicgirl52.tumblr.com.  
> This fic takes place in a different universe then my fanficiton, Million Reasons To Leave.

I can hear the crickets singing outside, lulling me to sleep. The manor is dark, quiet. I'm all alone.

I curl up in my bed, pulling the blanket closer to me. Even though it's so humid outside, I’m shivering. I wish someone was here with me. I wish he was here with me. I need him with me.

I don't know what to do anymore. Now that he's gone, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. Bruce was my everything, he was my whole world. Since I was nine years old, he has been the center of my universe. If Bruce Wayne was the Sun, I was the Earth.

But he's gone now, and there's nothing I could do to bring him back. 

I will myself not to cry, because I can feel the tears gathering again in my eyes. I'm done crying. It feels like that's all I've been doing for weeks now. Bruce is dead, and it's time for me to move on.

It's not like I've never lost someone before. I'm an orphan. I watched my parents die. Death is not new to me, so why am I having so much trouble adjusting to Bruce’s?

I roll over in my bed and shut my eyes tight, demanding myself to fall asleep. I've barely slept at all these past couple of weeks. Ever since that day, I haven't had a proper rest. I wish I would. 

I wish I could forget everything that has happened recently. I almost wish for a moment that I had never met Bruce at all, because then my heart would still be in one piece.

The creak of my bedroom door forces me to open my eyes. No one else is home right now.

Alfred has gone back to England, taking some time off to mourn in his own way. Damian is in Los Angeles at the Teen Titans tower, coping with Bruce's death by drowning himself in work. Tim went off somewhere with Stephanie almost as soon as the funeral was over, barely even saying goodbye before disappearing. I assume they went on a long road trip of some sort. And Jason? He's been completely MIA. He didn't even show up to the funeral. I have no idea where he is, but I don't need to worry. Jason's always been the loner type.

I tried to go back to my apartment in Bludhaven after the funeral, but I couldn't bring myself to go. Bludhaven just seems so far away from Gotham City and the Manor. I couldn't force myself to go. I couldn't be that far away from Bruce.

I know, I know; it's stupid to think that way. Bruce is dead, gone, and it doesn't matter where I am, because I will always be far from him. But when I'm in Gotham, when I'm sleeping in his old bed (the one that still smells so much like him), I can feel him. I can feel Bruce all around me, and if I close my eyes, I can even pretend that he's still here with me. If I leave Gotham City and go back to Bludhaven, I'm afraid I won't be able to feel him anymore.

I look over my shoulder at the door, studying the sliver of light spilling through the doorway and into the bedroom. I don't understand. I had shut off all the lights in the house before coming to bed, so who had turned the hallway light back on?

A shadow appears, blocking some of the light. It's too dark to make out a face, but I’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. 

My breath catches in surprise.

“Bruce?” I whisper in disbelief.

The shadow is silent as he takes another step into the room. It's him; it has to be, but I don't understand how it can be. 

“B-but you died. I  _ watched  _ you die. Two Face-”

_ “Sssssshhhhhhhh” _

I shut my mouth, sinking lower into my bed. He approaches me, slowly but deliberately. I wait for him to say something, to do anything. It's hard for me to believe he's here. I almost don't believe what I see at all. 

I can feel the mattress dip under his weight as he crawls onto the bed. I half expect him to be filthy, covered in dirt and mud, as if he had just dug himself out of his grave.

Is that what happened? Has Bruce risen from the grave, or had he never died in the first place? Either way, I don't understand how he did it. Sure, I guess someone could have put his body in a Lazarus Pit, but I doubt it. I suppose he could have faked his own death, but I don't see how I wouldn't have picked up on that.

I mean, I had held Bruce's body. I checked for a heartbeat, any sign of life.  _ I cried over his body!  _ If Bruce had been alive at that point, I would have known about it.

So, considering all of that, how is it possible that he's here now?

“Bruce,” I whisper, because I don't know what else to say. I don't even know what question to ask first. I'm not even sure if it's really him or not. It could be a clone, or a cyborg, or a shapeshifter. I want Bruce to be alive more then anything, but that doesn't mean I should believe that he is.

“Dick,” he breathes, and my heart skips a beat, because he sounds just like him! If this is some cruel trick that someone is playing on me, they've done a pretty convincing job of pretending to be Bruce. 

God, how I've missed him. Just hearing him say my name has made me realize how much I've truly longed him. Every bone in my body hurts from how much I yearn him. I need Bruce here, with me, now. I need him to hold me, I need to feel him pressed up against me. I need our bodies sweaty, and grinding against each other in desperation and greed.

I need that. Right now. Like plants need sunlight to survive, I need Bruce against me.

I don't have to wait long at all, because without another word, Bruce’s shadow is on me, trapping me against the mattress. I look up at him, my eyes wide with surprise and anticipation, and I can finally see the details of his face. I smile, because it's my Bruce.

Or at least, he looks exactly like my Bruce.

“Dick,” he repeats, his breath hot against my skin. His voice is full of hunger and lust. Bruce wants me, has missed me, just as much as I've missed him. And I can't wait anymore; I have to have him now.

When I was younger, sometimes Bruce would give me this strange look, as if he could see right through me. As if he knew what I was thinking. People say Batman has no superpowers, and that's what makes him such an incredible hero. But they're wrong. Batman does have a superpower, and it’s reading my mind. He has always been able to tell what I'm thinking, and right now is no exception.

In an instant, his lips are on mine, his body grinding against mine. I can barely breathe, barely think as I wrap my arms around his strong back, pulling him as close as humanly possible. I groan into his mouth as his tongue touches mine, and I can't help how my body arches into his. 

It's just like old times. Just like how I remembered it, but a thousand times better.

Except, Bruce is wet. He's soaked, actually. I run my hand through his hair, and if I wasn't so insane with lust at the moment, I'd probably be disgusted by all the mud in his hair. He's covered in mud and dirt, just as I had expected him to be. When he ends the kiss to catch his breath, I notice how scratched up and bloody his face is.

Where has Bruce been, and what has he been doing? Was I right when I thought that he might have dug himself out of his own grave? 

But then he looks at me with those ice blue eyes, and any trace of thought flies right out of my head. Those eyes are Bruce’s eyes, without a doubt. I'd know them anywhere. A million times I've stared into those eyes, each time even more in love then I was before.

The next part happens so quickly, I can barely comprehend it. It seems like less than an instant before Bruce has slipped a rough hand down the back of my pajama pants, squeezing my ass. I gasp, surging forward into a passionate kiss. 

Our kisses turn sloppy and dirty as Bruce slips the rest of my pants off my legs, my stiff cock springing up in attention. Then he has his warm hand around it, pumping with a mind blowing amount of determination. I'm so overwhelmed by his touch, that I can only gasp in response. I just hide my face against his dirty neck, and cry out as I cum all over his palm. Bruce lets out a deep, dark chuckle.

I don't even realize it when he strips himself of his own pants, but I do hear him throw them across the room. Before I even have a moment to register what's happening, Bruce is pressing his naked cock against mine, and I can't help but moan at the feeling. My eyes roll to the back of my head in pleasure.

“Purr for me, baby, purr for me,” he whispers against my ear, and then bites my neck. I cry out, half in pain and half in pleasure. Bruce used to demand that of me all the time; to purr for him. It’s a kink of his, something that I've always assumed Selina Kyle had brought out in him. I never minded the purring, because the reaction it brought out in Bruce was so worth it.

I purr for him, my legs wrapping around his waist as tightly as possible. I hold onto him as hard as I can, afraid that I don't, he might disappear again. 

I'm so confused. I don't know how any of this is possible right now, but I don't care. Not anymore.

He growls, thrusting his dick deep inside of me without any warning. I gasp in surprise and pain, my eyes widening in shock. I wasn't prepared for him to enter me so quickly. Bruce didn't even warn or properly prepare me. No lube, no spit, no cum. Nothing to make his entering me more pleasurable. I whine in pain as Bruce begins to ram into me at a brutal pace. I try not to complain, I try not to let the tears escape.

It feels like Bruce is tearing me apart. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to ignore the pain of Bruce’s cock rubbing against my dry hole. I can't help it when I cry out in anguish though, but I hope that maybe then Bruce will realize what he's doing. Maybe he’ll realize how much he's hurting me and stop. 

Because Bruce has never done this before. Never. He's always been so careful with me, treated me like I was made of glass. Maybe not when we were training as Batman and Robin, but in bed? Bruce had always treated me like I was the most fragile creature in the world. He's never been this careless, this unaware and selfish. It makes me think that maybe this really isn't my Bruce after all.

“Stop, please stop,” I struggle to say as he grunts with every thrust. He doesn't seem to hear me though, or if he does, it only seems to spur him on even more. He leaves a trail of bites and licks down my neck, moaning as he does. I push at his shoulders, trying to force him off of me, but it’s no use.

Even after all these years, after endless nights of training and weightlifting, I'm still not as strong as Bruce. 

I stare up at the ceiling, feeling like an idiot when the tears start running down my cheeks. How foolish I was to think the Bruce Wayne I loved was the same one in bed with me now. 

I try not to notice the way my body slams into the mattress, over and over again without mercy. I try to ignore the way Bruce groans as he goes deeper with every push. I just stare at nothing and wait for this nightmare to be over, because that must be what this is right now. 

This is only a nightmare. A dream, and very soon, I'm going to wake up, and none of this will have happened. I'll be happy, Bruce will have never died, and he would never intentionally hurt me. Ever.

I feel the shame wash over me when Bruce cums inside of me, filling me with his thick liquid. Just like he used to do, but it's not the same. Nothing is as it once was. Whoever this man is, it isn't the man I knew and loved. This man is a monster.

I let out a sigh of relief when he slips out of me, his cock going limp. I feel so dirty, so used. I'm so ashamed of myself. I had let this  _ stranger  _ fuck me, and I didn't stop him. And when I tried to, I failed. I was too weak.

I'm supposed to be better than this. Smarter than this. Stronger than this. 

I'm a failure. I've never thought of myself as that before, but I've never messed up as badly as I have now. I’ve never failed to protect myself so spectacularly before.

I’m so distracted by my own thoughts, that I don't even notice it when “Bruce” rolls out of the bed. I hear him shuffling around in the dark of my bedroom, searching for his pants. I glance over at his shadowy figure, my eyes narrowing suspiciously. If I had the strength right now, I'd overcome him in a surprise attack and then threaten the truth out of him. 

But I can't do that. Both my body and mind are too exhausted to even attempt such a thing. I can barely move as it is, I feel so weak. It's like my body has been broken. I look down at my feet, and they don't even feel like my own feet anymore. It feels like I'm looking at someone else's body entirely.

The figure approaches the door, but I can't just let him get away with this. Whoever or whatever this monster is, I can't let him abuse me and then just walk away, guilt free. I'm better than that. I have to be better than that.

“Bruce!” I call, the desperation and fear clear in my voice. I cringe at it, because I didn't want him to hear that. I didn't want whoever this man is to know how afraid I've really become.

The figure only half turns to me, the outline of his face so clear against the light of the hallway. He looks so much like the Bruce Wayne I loved, but it's not the same person. It can't be.

“You're not Bruce at all, are you?”

The man turns his head to the side. My blood turns cold when he speaks.

“Stupid boy. Bruce Wayne is dead,” he says. His voice is as smooth as butter, but the words still hurt to hear. I can feel my heart breaking all over again. I look down at the mattress, my face red with embarrassment. I can't believe how naive, how stupid I was.

The man lets out a sick, cackling laugh that echoes throughout the vast mansion. I don't even watch him as he goes. I can't bare to. 

I know I should do some detective work, and find out who this man is. Find out his reason for coming tonight, but I can't. At least, not tonight I can't.  Not after everything that's happened. Right now, the only thing I want to do is curl up in bed, pull the blankets tight around me, and try to pretend that everything that's happened tonight hasn't.

I was an idiot. I missed Bruce so much, I was willing to believe that he could just walk through my door again without any explanation. 

I failed. I failed myself, but more importantly, I failed the man I loved.

  
  
  
  



End file.
